


Chronicles

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 17,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22139572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: A collection of Geralt/Yennefer ficlets.  Most are probably gonna be smutty, tbh.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 198
Kudos: 446





	1. Hunting the Genie (FBI AU)

Her partner was still droning on when she swiped her key card. The Miami heat clung to her skin even in the chill of the air conditioning, and wisps of hair were stuck to her neck under her bun. The room was nice— better than some of the other shitholes the Bureau had stuck her in— and Yennefer was looking forward to a long shower in the enormous bathroom, just as soon as her partner got the hint and went to his room.

“We’re missing something, I know we are,” he said in that low, rumbly voice of his. If it weren’t for the fact that he was boring the shit out of her, she would probably find him attractive. But she could see why he didn’t usually work with a partner, because Geralt was too dogged and determined to be fully human.

“It’s a serial killer, Geralt. They are, unfortunately, not very unusual.” She threw her briefcase on the desk and unhooked her gun from her holster, securing it in the safe. Geralt simply leaned against the wall, lost in thought. “And I need to shower.”

Geralt ignored her. “He holds them captive and we know he makes them make wishes,” he said, as if reciting the basic facts of the case would help.

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know, that’s why they call him The Genie,” she said, and decided to take matters into her own hands. She was going to melt if she didn’t shower soon, and judging by the scent rolling off Geralt— one that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, she had to admit, so long as you were into sweaty men— he could use one too.

She pulled her bobby pins out and let her hair fall around her shoulders. Geralt made a noise at that but stayed where he was, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it carelessly in the general direction of her suitcase.

“Have the locals checked area psychics, tarot readers, that sort of thing?” Geralt asked, trailing her towards the bathroom. He didn’t seem to notice she was unbuttoning her blouse until Yennefer threw it over her shoulder at him.

Geralt caught it deftly and raised his eyebrows. “What the hell are you doing?”

Yennefer looked back at him, stepping out of her pencil skirt. “Showering. It’s hotter than balls out there, we’ve been working all day, and I smell like death. You do too, for that matter.”

“Did— did you want me to leave?”

She couldn’t help it, she was pleased she’d thrown him a little. “You want to keep talking about the case, so keep talking. Just turn around.” She strode into the bathroom and noticed the shower had two showerheads, presumably for couples on a romantic getaway. Or for FBI agents with partners who were physically incapable of taking a break and who desperately needed a shower. “Or better yet, join me.” Geralt’s head whipped around. “Over there,” she said, pointing. So long as he behaved himself, they’d be a good two feet apart. She’d showered with men in the locker rooms before. It was a lot less sexy than most imagined, and the meatheads she worked with had long ago lost their appeal.

Geralt was different, she had to admit, but she had to be sure about him. This wasn’t a test, exactly, except it sort of was. She was sick of the other agents, with their boasts and brute force and soft, squishy egos. If Geralt could behave himself with her, maybe she’d think about doing something about the fire that kindled in her belly when she first laid eyes on him.

Yennefer twisted the handle and stepped into the spray, waiting. She heard the rustle of clothing being shed and the hiss of the other showerhead. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him doing the same. “Don’t look,” she chided.

He grunted, but when she looked again he had his face towards the opposite wall. 

First test, passed.

“I don’t think it’s about the wishes,” he said, picking up the thread of their earlier conversation. “I think it’s about the cage.”

“Because he gets off on trapping them?” She soaped up her hair and started rinsing, the cool water soothing after the heat of the day.

“Because he feels trapped,” Geralt said.

“So he’s reenacting his fears?”

“Something like that.”

It was the best theory she’d heard so far and this time, she didn’t scold him when their gazes met.

“I’ll have the team start looking into men with troubled childhoods, then.” Geralt scoffed and she bristled. “Do you not want me to follow your lead?”

He sighed. “No, it’s just— lots of people have shitty childhoods. I did, and I’m betting you did too. The men who do this— they’re doing it because they want to, not because of something that happened to them.”

“What makes you think I had a troubled childhood?” She turned to face him, but Geralt kept his back to her, eyes on the wall in front of him.

“It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together,” he said, surprisingly gentle. “But you’re right, it’s a place to start.”

Yennefer turned off the water and wrapped herself in a towel. Only then did Geralt turn around, completely unabashed. Granted, given his general physique, he had reason to preen. “Then that’s where we’ll start,” she said, her skin warming under his gaze. She strode out without a second look, but felt his eyes on on her the whole time.


	2. Hunting the Genie, Part II (FBI AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like banging in a hospital closet after a house explosion to settle your nerves.

Waking up in a pile of rubble that had once been a house was not how Yennefer imagined her day going, but when she and Geralt approached a suspect’s house for a preliminary interview, the Genie had panicked and decided to blow himself up instead.

The first thing she saw was Geralt looming over her, his hands surprisingly gentle as he checked her face and neck for wounds. “Can you hear me?” he asked over the ringing in her ears. She nodded and he pulled her up, but before they could talk they were surrounded by EMTs strapping them down and shoving them into separate ambulances.

The hospital let her go after a short examination. She had some scrapes and bruises, but nothing she couldn’t recover from. She strode down the quiet hallway, tugging at the sleeves of her torn and dirtied blouse. It almost wasn’t worth wearing anymore— her blazer was doing most of the work in making her decent, anyway.

“Yen!” a haggard voice called, and she spun on her heel. Geralt was barreling down the hallway after her looking similarly disheveled. A bandage above his eye was the only visible wound, and he certainly didn’t move like someone with any sort of grievous injury. He grabbed her biceps with his hands, scanning her intently. “You’re okay,” he said softly, more to himself than anything else. “You’re okay.”

“Of course I’m okay,” she said, a little discomfited by the fear in his eyes and the accompanying yearning in her belly. She wanted him to keep touching her, and then his gaze dropped to her lips.

There was a storage closet to her left and she shoved him into it. Geralt had the door closed and her pinned against it half a second later, crushing her into a desperate kiss. His lips were dry but his mouth was hot, searching and needy as his tongue swept into her mouth. She hiked her skirt up around her waist and let him hoist her into the air without ever breaking the kiss. 

This sort of hookup wasn’t uncommon after near-death experiences, she knew. It was adrenaline mostly, a primal need to prove to yourself that you were still alive. In fact, there was a whole lecture about it during training, and how it could complicate your working relationship with your fellow agents and so it was best to avoid it happening at all costs.

Yennefer knew all that, and she didn’t give a damn so long as he kept kissing her like this, like he was drowning and she was his only lifeline. Geralt nudged her panties aside and she yanked his jeans open, just enough for his cock to press against her entrance. She hooked her ankles behind his back, bracing herself.

The moment he sank inside of her, the world went black. It felt too good, too raw, too real, for her to take in anything else. Geralt held still, letting her adjust, and buried his face in her neck. He breathed in, as if filling his lungs with her scent. She rolled her hips forward and he took the hint. He thrusted and she arched her back, baring the column of her throat to his lips. Each time he snapped his hips forward he drove deeper inside her, invading her and consuming her all at once.

Geralt fisted what remained of her shirt in his hands and tore it open, baring her breasts to his hot, hungry mouth. She moaned, not caring that people in the hallway could probably hear them, just needing him to keep fucking her like this. She nipped at his lower lip and he did the same in turn, sinking his teeth into her just hard enough to hurt.

Yennefer clawed at his back, wanting him closer, wanting to crawl inside him and spend eternity wrapped in his warmth and his scent, musky and masculine. He nosed at her jaw, unexpectedly tender. “Yen,” he breathed, and normally, she hated that nickname. But now it was all she wanted to hear, her name on his lips while he was inside her. She dropped her hand between them to rub fast, rough circles on her clit, and when she came he followed her over the edge with a soft groan.

For a moment they simply stayed like that, foreheads pressed together, panting. But then she came back to herself and he did too, the realization of what they'd just done settling over them like a thick blanket.

He pulled out and set her down, giving her jellied limbs a second to adjust before letting go. “I’m supposed to report back to Quantico immediately,” he said, closing his fly. "Sorry about the shirt."

She shrugged. “It was mostly destroyed anyway. And I’ll have to stay for a few days to help the locals clean up the mess. I’ll see you at Quantico, then?”

Geralt grunted, avoiding her eyes. “I’ll go out first,” he said, and with a soft click she was alone in the closet.

But four days later when she got back to Quantico, he was long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't fuck your fbi agent partner in a hospital closet without a condom, okay kids? okay good talk.


	3. Hunting the Genie, Part III (FBI AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're no longer hunting the genie but I committed to that dumb name so here we are. More FBI AU, this time with them undercover per an anon suggestion on tumblr.

“Are you armed?” Geralt’s question was brusque and entirely unnecessary, and Yennefer rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve got an M16 strapped to my back and a Desert Eagle in my thigh holster,” she snapped, spinning around. The dress she had poured herself into in the staging area down the block left nothing to the imagination, which meant her options for weaponry were exceedingly limited. But that didn’t mean she was going to meet with a possible informant completely vulnerable. She wasn’t an idiot, no matter what Geralt thought of her.

Geralt’s eyes narrowed, reflecting neon light from the sign by the street. The alley was deserted and grim, and the rest of the squad was setting up inside the restaurant. But her date wouldn’t be here for another ten minutes and Geralt was officially running point on this op, so she was stuck. “I’m not sending you in there unarmed,” he growled.

“I’ve got a knife,” she sighed.

“Where?”

“Where do you  _ think? _ ” She lifted her chin, annoyed. Two years ago, she’d arrived at Quantico prepared to at least have an awkward that-shouldn’t-have-happened discussion with him, only to discover he’d left for an undercover mission three days earlier without a word.

And undercover mission that was only now ending, provided she could get Eyck to flip on his father. It shouldn’t be too hard— he was about as complicated as unbuttered toast— but that didn’t mean the mission was without risks. It was the mob, after all. But she was still more than a little pissed at Geralt's disappearing act. He could have at least left a note.

Geralt’s gaze darted to the tops of her thighs, where her black dress stopped about one inch lower than scandalous. “You’re kidding me.”

“Where else would I put it?”

“Not there,” he rasped. His eyes hadn’t moved from her legs and he licked his lips. The heat she had told herself was just a product of adrenaline those years ago settled between them again, thick and humid.

She stepped closer. “It’s perfectly secure,” she said, far lower and more sultry than she intended. Yennefer watched his mouth and had a sudden thought of what those lips would feel like between her legs, his stubble scraping against the skin of her inner thighs. “You can check, if you like.”

One of his hands came to rest on her lower back and jerked her against him. His other hand dropped to the hem of her dress, fingertips playing with the silky, stretchy fabric. “We wouldn’t want Eyck to be able to disarm you, would we?” he murmured. His palm slid around to her holster, warm and callused. His knuckles brushed against her core and she fought a moan, but with the way his eyes darkened, she knew he saw the effect he was having on her.

“Guys? Anyone there? Hello?” Their earpieces crackled at the same time with Jaskier’s voice. “Eyck is walking into the restaurant and looking for his beautiful-yet-terrifying date, so Yennefer, wherever you are, you’re on.”

They pulled away from each other, avoiding eye contact. “On my way,” she reported. Geralt was already climbing into the surveillance van, but when she’d gone halfway down the alley, he called out. “Yen?” he said.

She stopped and turned. He looked as serious as she’d ever seen him, and with Geralt, that was saying something. “Be safe,” he said, slamming the van door behind him.

* * *

“You look lovely, Yennie,” Eyck said, kissing her cheek.

Geralt snorted in her ear, but she ignored him. “This is a fancy restaurant,” she flirted, as if she hadn’t steered him towards choosing this exact place. The Bureau had used it before in ops, and they knew the layout— down to the heating vents— like the back of their hands.

“I wanted the best for my best girl,” Eyck cooed. 

Geralt snorted again. “How do you put up with that prick, Yen?” he grumbled, knowing full well she was unable to answer. 

Instead, she tucked her hand into the crook of Eyck’s elbow and let him lead her to the table in the back corner— the one under a security cam that fed directly into Geralt’s van. She passed Jaskier at a table alone, and then waited until they were in full view of the camera to press a delicate peck to Eyck’s lips. He wasn’t so bad, as mob princelings went. He treated her well, and wasn’t deeply involved in his father’s more unsavory activities. If she had to spend three months convincing a mobster’s son to propose to her, she could have done worse than Eyck. Now all that was left was convincing him to turn on his father.

Eyck smiled fondly at her and she touched his cheek, earning her a third snort from Geralt. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t we?” Geralt asked.

“Am I missing something?” Jaskier interrupted.

“No,” Geralt muttered. “Yen’s just...being Yen.”

It was hard to keep the eye roll off her face. “Eyck, I’m so glad you could get away,” she purred. “I know you’ve been busy with the books lately.”  _ Busy _ , her brain scoffed.  _ This manchild has never worked a day in his life. _

“Busy. Good one,” Geralt chuckled. “Tell me, Yen, do you think he can even read?”

“I feel like this chatter is maybe not on mission?” Jaskier interrupted again. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Geralt said dismissively.

Yennefer forcibly tuned them out. “There’s something really important I wanted to talk you about,” she told Eyck, dropping her hand to his thigh. His khakis tightened noticeably. He was so easily manipulated it was almost sad, really.

“Okay, uh, just, uh, one second,” he said, standing up awkwardly and doing a terrible job of hiding his burgeoning erection.

“Jesus fucking  _ christ _ ,” Geralt snapped.

“Hurry back, my love,” Yennefer said softly, and watched Eyck hustle down the hallway towards the bathroom.

“Switch channels,” Geralt said, his voice less staticky than before. Pretending to tuck her hair behind her ear, Yennefer tapped the hidden earpiece to Geralt's private channel. “The fuck was that, Yen?” he growled.

She dipped her head down, letting her hair shield her face from the rest of the restaurant. “That was me saying hello to my fiancé. Why are we cutting out Jaskier?”

Geralt ignored her question. “Did you have to give him a fucking boner at the dinner table?”

She smirked. “That wasn’t my fault. I can’t help the way men respond to my body.”

He grunted. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?” she teased.

“Torturing me.” He sounded raw, not flirtatious, and it drew her up short.

For maybe the first time in her life, Yennefer failed to have a quip in response. “You were the one who left. Went undercover without a word,” she said softly. She’d never meant to mention that. She wasn’t going to, because it wasn’t worth it.  _ He _ wasn’t worth it. 

“And for that I’m sorry,” he said. A beeping from the other channel cut off anything else he was going to say.

She switched channels and Jaskier’s voice broke through the haze of memories. “Guys? I hate to interrupt, you know,  _ again _ , but does anyone else think it might be a little weird for a newly engaged man to be taking a massive, massive dump while on a romantic date with his fiancée?”

Yennefer realized with a start that Eyck had been gone for far longer than he should have been. “Fuck,” she and Geralt said at the same time. 

She threw down her napkin and hurried down the hallway, Jaskier on her heels, as Geralt came barreling through the kitchen. She had her knife in her hand as Geralt kicked open the door to the single stall men’s room, but it was too late.

Eyck was dead. 

His throat had been cut and his blood pooled on the black and white tile, a long finger of red reaching for the door.

“Shit,” she hissed, and Geralt moved in front of her, gun drawn.

“Window,” he said, and sure enough, there was a small window above the sink that was hanging open. A smudged footprint on the rim of the sink drove it home, just in case she hadn’t picked up on it. While she was flirting with Geralt, someone had just murdered their best chance of bringing down the mob.

She and Geralt looked at each other and sighed in unison. “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has spiraled entirely out of control and there's at least one more part coming.


	4. Hunting the Genie, Part IV (FBI AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Yennefer attempt to use their words with each other.

After a quick and heated fight over whether or not her cover was blown, Yennefer agreed to stay in one of Geralt’s safe houses just for the night. She hated being out of commission, but with Geralt as the acting agent in charge, she had little choice. 

Geralt handed her his extra sidearm before they entered the apartment, and they wordlessly swept the place for intruders before speaking. “What is this place?” she asked, taking in the layer of dust over everything. It was a studio, small and tidy— aside from the dust— but it had a cold, empty feel, like no one had ever slept there.

Geralt shifted uncomfortably. “It was supposed to be for...my mistresses.”

She couldn’t help it, her eyebrows just about flew off her forehead. “Your  _ mistresses?” _

“I was supposed to find a long term girlfriend as part of my cover, and then this was where I was supposed to bring the, uh, strippers and cocktail waitresses I picked up. Had to fit in with the lifestyle, and that’s part of it.”

“Supposed to find a long term girlfriend? As in you didn’t?”

Geralt stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You probably want to change. I think I’ve got some clothes here,” he said, changing the subject with the subtlety of a battle ax. He rummaged through a chest of drawers and handed her a t-shirt and sweatpants that she could already tell would be way too large for her. But Yennefer really didn’t fancy spending the night in a skintight dress while the rest of the squad assessed the strength of her cover, so she headed to the tiny bathroom to change.

Yennefer was hardly a small woman, but Geralt was an absolute giant. The shirt was somehow longer than her dress had been, and the sweatpants, no matter how many times she rolled them at the waist, were so far from fitting there wasn’t even a point. She stepped out of them, washed her face, and padded back out to the main room. “Any word from Jaskier and the squad?”

“No,” he said, turning around. He looked at her, eyes dropping straight to her bare legs, and swore. “Fuck, Yen. Didn’t I give you pants?”

She snorted. “They don’t fit. And if I remember correctly, you’ve not only seen me naked, but you’ve been inside me. I think we can manage this.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Jaskier is reaching out to my contacts. So far, it’s looking like this was one of Eyck's father’s competitors and nothing to do with us,” he said.

She walked past him to the small kitchen and found an old, half stale box of cereal. She’d never gotten her dinner, and she was starving. Yennefer boosted herself up onto the counter and started eating the cereal by the fistful, enjoying the way Geralt seemed to be very uncomfortable with her presence. “You never said why you didn’t get around to having mistresses,” she needled.

“Because one would need a long term partner in order to have them. As I never managed that part, this apartment was unnecessary.”

“But you did fuck some cocktail waitresses?”

“I did what was necessary to keep my cover,” he said tightly, crossing his arms and leaning against the back of the couch. “That’s all.”

“It shouldn’t have been hard, though. Guy like you. You could have found someone,” she pressed. She knew why she was doing this, and even though her brain was screaming  _ shut up _ she just kept going, powered by a burning in her chest that was strikingly similar to jealousy. It was ridiculous to feel this way, since it wasn’t like she had anything approaching a claim on him, but the thought of him in the bed three feet away, a strange woman writhing beneath him, made her furious.

“But I didn’t.”

“Why?”

Geralt fixed his eyes on her, pinning her in place. “Because I only wanted you.” Yennefer blinked and he pushed off the couch, prowling toward her. “It’s stupid, right? You hate me, and we’re— we’re nothing to each other. But every time, I’d be with someone and they just— they didn’t have your scent. And I couldn’t.”

“I don’t hate you,” she said quietly, as Geralt fit himself between her knees, his hands resting on either side of her hips on the counter.

“You sort of seem like you do,” he said sardonically.

“That’s because you do asshole things, like leave for an undercover job without leaving so much as a fucking note.”

He rested his forehead against hers. “I know. I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

Yennefer was not, in general, a forgiving person. But he sounded so sincere, so regretful, that she nodded. “If I’m forgiven for torturing you a little earlier tonight,” she said with a half-grin.

Geralt curled his hand around the nape of her neck. “No, you’re not,” he growled. He captured her lips in a deep, searing kiss that she felt in her toes. “I’m going to make you pay for that.”


	5. Hunting the Genie, Part V (FBI AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last bit of the FBI AU! Now with (more) smut.

Geralt dumped her on the mattress and went to cover her with his body, but she rolled them over and climbed on top of him instead. There was something about Geralt that made her feel vulnerable, and there was only so much she could take of his oddly gentle sincerity. With her knees aside his hips Yennefer felt more grounded, more in control.

His hands skated up her sides under the loose fabric of his shirt to palm her breasts. She gasped but the sound was lost in his mouth, hungry and searching. He was hard and she rolled her hips along his length, the denim of his jeans dragging roughly against her. Geralt swept her shirt off in one swift move, barely even bothering to break the kiss. She clawed at his shirt, fumbling at the buttons in her haste to feel his bare chest against hers.

Yennefer flattened her torso against him and savored the feel of his chest hair scratching the soft skin of her breasts. Judging by the noise he made, Geralt liked it too. She felt his hand twist into the strip of fabric over her hip and he pulled back just enough to make eye contact. She nodded, and with one more wrench of his wrist the silk gave way.

She popped the button on his fly, but before she could do more than rise up on her knees and shove his jeans down, Geralt had her on her back.

He kicked his jeans off and flatted on his stomach between her thighs, shoving her legs wide. He had his face buried in her center before she could so much as breathe and his groan rumbled through her flesh. “Fuck,” he rasped, lashing her clit with his tongue. “How do you taste this good?”

She couldn’t answer, just grabbed his hair and pulled his head closer. Even with his hands pressing her thighs to the mattress she rode his face, bucking against him as best she could. Yennefer had ceased to be anything but flesh and want and nerve endings, keyed entirely to Geralt. He eased two fingers inside of her and her back nearly bowed of the mattress. There was nothing delicate about his touch and that was exactly what she needed, and when he sucked her clit between his lips, cheeks hollowing, she keened loudly. Her walls clamped down on his fingers and every muscle in her body tightened, pleasure rolling through her in waves that left her gasping for air.

By the time she came back to herself, Geralt had a condom on. He helped her over him, maneuvering her jellied limbs until she was braced against his chest, his cock deep inside her. He held her hips in an iron grip, fingertips so deep in her flesh she knew they’d leave bruises. The thought of having his mark on her had her rolling her hips, sliding up and down his length while he urged her on.

Yennefer leaned down, nails digging into his pecs. They pressed their foreheads together, not kissing, just breathing the same air as she rode him. He licked his thumb and pressed it to her clit, letting her grind against him until they were both coming, hard and fast.

For a heartbeat, she wondered what would happen next. Maybe Geralt was the type to simply walk away, like he had in Miami. Maybe she’d misread his apology, and maybe he would turn cold and disappear again.

But before her walls could go up, he tugged her down for a long, slow kiss. “I’ll order us some pizza,” he said, rubbing his nose alongside hers. “Pepperoni?”

“And sausage,” she confirmed, the smile on her face echoing the one on his.


	6. Prank War (College AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My beloved Rumaan requested a prank war, and that's more or less what happens.

“I don’t have any underwear,” Jaskier whined, walking in without knocking. Not that he ever did, but Geralt had high hopes he might someday.

Geralt didn’t even look up from his desk. “Then do your laundry.”

“That’s the thing. I can’t, because I _don’t have any underwear._ ”

“This is not a problem worthy of Resident Advisor intervention, Jaskier. Go buy some more.”

Jaskier flopped down on his futon, ignoring him. “You’re not listening to me. I don’t have any underwear, because _someone stole it._ ”

“One of your paramours?” Geralt would never understand why being in a goddamn campus acapella group was such a panty-dropper, but it seemed to be working well for Jaskier. The kid had a non-stop string of female admirers. 

“ _Paramour?_ What are you, from the fourteenth century? And good god, of course I didn’t sleep with her. She’s terrifying. That’s your thing, not mine.”

“Could you use a proper noun somewhere in there?” Geralt grumbled, slamming his book shut. There was no point in working on his Genetics assignment as long as Jaskier was demanding his attention. “Who stole your fucking underwear, Jaskier?”

“Who do you think? The witch.”

“Her name is Yennefer.”

“She’s still a witch. Literally. She has crystals and candles and shit.”

“So do half the women in this dorm.”

“Whatever.” 

Geralt sighed. “Why do you think Yennefer stole your underwear?”

“Because I told her she was scary— which is just stating a fact, you know— and she said I’d pay for it. And now I don’t have any underwear.”

He hated to admit it, but Jaskier was probably right. Yennefer suffered no fools and took no prisoners, and if Jaskier’s underwear had gone missing shortly after he deliberately antagonized her, she was the most likely culprit. Geralt stood and Jaskier just looked up at him from the futon, bewildered. “Are you coming?” Geralt asked.

“Where?”

“To get your underwear back.”

“I thought it’d be more, you know, you go and tell her to give it back and she does and I don’t have to see her.”

“You thought wrong.” He waited until Jaskier peeled himself from the couch and trailed reluctantly after him down the hall.

Yennefer’s room would not have been hard to find even if she wasn’t blasting Alanis Morissette loud enough to be heard three floors away. Hers was the only door with absolutely no decorations on it, not even a white board. It would be intimidating for most people, but Geralt kind of liked that she didn’t give a shit. 

Geralt knocked to be polite, but he wasn’t sure she would hear him over the music. “Come in!” Her voice was muffled by the door, and when he opened it it felt as though Alanis had physically reached out and slapped his eardrums.

“Alanis, huh?” he said conversationally, leaning against the doorjamb. Jaskier was half-hiding behind him, trying to stay out of her line of sight. “How retro.”

Yennefer sighed and turned off her speaker. “Did you want something?” She had the same assignment he’d been working on open on her desk, and she looked annoyed, although whether at him or the assignment she couldn’t say.

“Any chance you’ve seen, oh I dunno, all of Jaskier’s underwear?”

She shrugged. “Nope.”

“Liar!” Jaskier piped up, and Geralt waved at him to shut him up.

“So there’s no chance that paper bag of men’s boxers next to your bed belongs to him?” Geralt asked mildly.

She didn’t even flinch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, picking up a nail file. She eyed one hand critically and got to work smoothing the nail on her middle finger.

“You just collect men’s boxers?” Geralt pressed.

A grin fluttered at the corners of her lips. “Is that a crime?”

“It is when they belong to me!” Jaskier interjected.

“Give them back, Yennefer,” Geralt said in his best RA-voice.

“No.” She met his gaze evenly, eyes dancing, and it was hard for him to keep a smile off his face. She wasn’t terribly popular, despite her striking good looks, and kept to herself. She was, as Jaskier said, a little scary, but it was a type of scary Geralt could appreciate. She was smart too, breezing her way through a Genetics class few freshman could have passed and that Geralt himself was struggling with. But there was something about her that called to him, that whispered _she’s just like you_. He couldn’t say what it was that they had in common, aside from a general dislike of humanity, but he was sure that deep down, he understood Yennefer Vengerberg better than anyone else. And he thought she might get him too.

“Then I’ll just take them!” Jaskier announced, but his foot barely crossed the threshold of her door before he shrank back at the sight of her glare. “Or you can, you know, give them to me when it’s convenient.”

“I’ll handle this, Jaskier,” Geralt said, and with a grateful look Jaskier practically tripped in his haste to get away. “The man needs his underwear,” Geralt tried again. He stepped inside her room but she didn’t try to stop him.

“The man needs to learn some fucking manners and he can go commando while he learns them.”

“Because he called you scary?”

She narrowed those deadly violet eyes at him. “I’ve been called way worse than that in my life. But he thinks he can get away with anything because he’s charming, and I wanted to make sure he knew he was wrong.”

“Can we say he learned his lesson?” Geralt asked, still slowly moving toward her as if pulled by an invisible force.

“Did he, though? I think he just went and got his big burly friend to fix it for him.”

“His big burly friend who happens to be in charge of the floor.”

She shrugged, standing. “I’m not scared of you, you know. Are you going to kick me out of the dorms for a harmless prank?”

“It’s only harmless if he gets his underwear back, Yen.” The nickname came out of nowhere, slipping unbidden from his lips. Lips he then licked, because suddenly they were standing very, very close to each other and she smelled very, very good.

Her eyes flashed and she inched closer, her hand coming to rest on his forearm. “I’ll make you a deal. You can have his underwear back.”

“If?” He cocked his head to the side, waiting.

“If you kiss me.”

“Relationships between RAs and residents are frowned upon,” he said, but he wasn’t moving away from her touch. He couldn’t. Maybe Jaskier was right— maybe she was a witch and he was under her spell.

Or maybe he just liked her a whole lot more than he was willing to admit to himself.

She laughed, a surprisingly bright sound for a woman with such a sultry voice. “Who said anything about a relationship? One kiss, and your boy gets his goddamn underwear back. It’s a fair trade, I’d say.”

“And how does this teach Jaskier a lesson?”

“It doesn’t,” she said with an elegant shrug of her shoulder. “But it gets me something I want.”

“And that is?” he said, even though really, he should have been out the door a good three minutes ago if he’d had any intention of handling this properly.

She brushed the pad of her fingertip across his lips. “You.”

“One kiss. Then you give it all back.” _Fuck_ he should not be doing this, but he also wasn’t stopping.

“You have my word,” she breathed, and his hand was already cuffing the back of her neck, drawing her face to his. “Simple as that.”

But the moment their lips met, he knew this would be anything but simple.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to everyone on tumblr who helped me brainstorm majors for Yennefer and Geralt. The detail ended up not making it in, but Geralt is Zoology/Biology (aiming for veterinary school) and Yennefer is Chemistry/Biology (mostly aiming to make money.)


	7. The Family (Actor AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an anon request for Yen and Geralt as actors on a raunchy tv show.

“Cut,” Tissaia called from behind her bank of screens. She stood and wiped her hands on her sensible black trousers. “We’ll do the scene with Marco and Alessandro next, and then the closet with Dominic and Maria after lunch.”

Yennefer rose from her seat behind the banquet table and adjusted her dress. It wasn’t so much a “dress” as “lots of strings of beads arranged in swoops and curtains to imitate a dress” and it was hardly comfortable. Her only saving grace was that she was only shooting from the waist up today, which meant she could wear sneakers instead of the six inch spike heels her character Maria favored.

Her trailer was, as usual, about five degrees too warm to be fully comfortable. She sighed, digging a water bottle from her mini fridge, and flopped down on the narrow couch. A knock sounded at the door and she didn’t even bother to lift her head. “Come in!” she yelled.

Geralt stuck his head in. “Thought you might want to run lines before this afternoon,” he said, holding up the pages.

As this afternoon’s scenes was supposed to be one of the pivotal scenes of the entire season, another rehearsal couldn’t hurt. Dominic and Maria’s sexual tension had been at a low, rolling boil for two and a half seasons and this episode— while trapped in a closet avoiding an attack by a rival family— the younger son of the Ricci mob was going to finally confess his love for his brother’s wife.

Nothing else would happen in this episode, but Yennefer suspected she was in for several sex scenes with Geralt before the season finale, particularly given  _ The Family’s _ penchant for raunchy nudity. She was fine with that in theory— she’d been tits out at least half a dozen times already— but the be honest, the thought of intimate scenes with Geralt made her a little twitchy.

Not because he’d been anything but respectful. But when she worked with Istredd, her skin didn’t tingle at every chance brush of his fingers the way it did with Geralt. And that, more than anything, made her nervous.

“Yeah, come on in,” she said, pushing herself up to sit. She grabbed the afternoon’s scene and leaned back against the couch’s arm, while Geralt perched his considerable bulk on the far end of the couch. That was another thing about Geralt: he was  _ massive _ . He moved easily, like a dancer, but there was no way to hide the fact that working with him in a tiny faux supply closet was going to be like being stuck in a bird cage with a bear.

They started at the top, which was just chatter about the attack and whether or not they’d be safe in the closet. If it was a full rehearsal she’d be caged in his arms against a wall, but neither of them bothered to even stand. Geralt looked at her, pages hanging loosely between his knees. “You know, right?” he said softly. “You have to know.”

“Dom, don’t,” Yennefer whispered back, but her knees felt weak even though she was sitting. Yennefer had been acting since she was eleven— Tissaia had given her first job, even— and never, in all her years of experience, had she had such difficulty telling reality from pretend as she did with Geralt.  _ He’s just that good of an actor _ , she told herself.

Geralt frowned and looked back at his lines. “Should we stand for this? Might be easier if we’re in rough blocking, at least, since the next part involves a lot of, uh, body language.”

He wasn’t wrong, she knew that much, so she stood and leaned against the flimsy wall of her trailer, pages clutched in her fist like a shield even though she didn’t need them at all. Geralt stood in front of her, but he was a good foot farther away than the scene called for. “Dom, don’t,” she repeated, picking up the scene where they left off.

“Don’t?” he said, a little anger leaking into his voice. “Do you know what it’s like for me? Seeing you with him, day after day, knowing he’s—” Geralt broke off and looked away.

“Your father will kill you, Dom. He’ll kill me too. Riccis don’t—”

“Riccis don’t betray the family,” he finished. Geralt set the papers down on her coffee table and crowded her against the wall. “But what about betraying ourselves? Denying ourselves what we want?” He gently touched a strand of beads on her shoulder, fingertips finding her skin underneath in a delicate caress.

“What we want doesn’t matter. All that matters is the family.”

“Fuck the family,” he said fiercely, cupping her jaw with his massive hand. Yennefer’s mouth went dry and she met his gaze evenly, her heart pounding so loudly they could probably hear it on set. “I love you, Maria. I have loved you since I met you, and I’m not going to die for this fucking family without telling you.”

As the script called for, she traced his eyebrow with the tip of her finger, skating it down his cheek and trailing across his upper lip. Breathing had never been so difficult. Geralt caught her hand with his and pressed it to his mouth, eyes never leaving hers.

This was the end of the scene. A gunman would burst in and take Maria prisoner, and the episode would end with Dominic preparing to find her. That was it. They were done with their lines, and Geralt could go back to his trailer and she could press a cold water bottle to her face until the flush that had crawled up her neck three lines ago faded.

But Geralt didn’t let go of her hand and Yennefer didn’t even try to move away. He laced their fingers together instead, golden eyes questioning, and when she gave a tiny jerk of her head he bent down and sealed their lips together, kissing her hard.

And even though it was a terrible idea to make out with your costar, Yennefer kissed him back.


	8. Taking a punch (MMA AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a request for angsty exes and/or MMA fighters and I thought hey, why not both?

“New partner for you,” Borch announced. 

“Who?” Geralt grunted. He was busy taping his knuckles, and really, it didn’t matter. He got paid whether they won or lost, and his only concern was that his partner could take care of herself. He couldn’t be caught worrying about her ability to take a punch, or trying to fight her fight too. That was a one way ticket to getting his ass kicked, something he generally tried to avoid.

“Vengerberg. Yennefer Vengerberg,” Borch said, checking his clipboard.

Geralt’s heart— or what was left of it— stopped. “No.”

“Yes,” Borch said evenly. “She’s got a good record and the crowd loves her. She’ll meet you in the tunnel.”

Borch left the locker room and for the first time in the seven years he’d been cage fighting, Geralt considered bailing on a match. He could leave right now, and by the time Borch realized it, he’d be long gone. He could pack up his meager belongings and hit the road, find somewhere else that would pay good money to watch a very large man punch other very large men in the face.

But that would mean never seeing Yen again, and when it came to her, he’d always been weak. Geralt slammed his locker shut, punched for good measure, and headed to the tunnel.

Yennefer was waiting for him, chin high. “Geralt,” she said cooly.

“Yen,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Didn’t know you were back in town.”  _ I thought you’d left for good. That’s what you said, anyway.  _

“Plans change,” she shrugged. “I’ve fought this pair before. She’s got a weak right knee, and he tends to overcompensate for his shitty footwork by hitting really fucking hard.”

“Glad to see some things stay the same.”

She cut her eyes at him. In the tunnel they looked black, but he knew their exact shade of violet. He couldn’t forget, even if he tried. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You always were good at knowing someone's weakness,” he snapped, but when he saw barb land it didn’t feel triumphant. It felt shitty, because he hated hurting her. He always had.

Yennefer didn’t get a chance to respond, because the announcer was calling their names and they had to jog through the crowd at the end of the tunnel and wait for the ref to open the gate to the cage. Their opponents were already waiting, Calanthe warming up the crowd while Eist shook out his arms and legs. Geralt caught Yen’s eye and she nodded.

The ref rang the bell and the match was on. Yen was right— Calanthe consistently avoided anything that could hurt her right knee, and Eist’s blows were hard enough for Geralt to see stars even while got tripped up by his own feet. Geralt started dancing away, using that knowledge to his advantage, while Yen kept circling to Calanthe’s right side. He drove his knee into Eist’s stomach just as Calanthe landed a fierce blow to Yen’s jaw.

Yennefer met his gaze and he dove down, ready. In a split second, she’d vaulted over his back, Geralt sweeping Calanthe’s legs out from under her as Yennefer drilled her elbow into the Eist’s back.

The move worked— Eist was down for the count, and Calanthe was forced to concede once she realized he wasn’t getting back up. The ref lifted their hands in victory and they took a short lap around the cage, letting the crowd roar their approval.

After that, the silence of the locker room was deafening. Geralt winced as he unwrapped the tape from his fists, blood leaking from his knuckles. He craned his neck to look at his back in the mirror and grunted in annoyance when he saw the crescent shaped gouge just below his shoulderblade.

“Need help with that?” Yen asked from the door way. She had a bandage on her forearm and the beginnings of an ugly bruise on her jaw, but otherwise appeared unharmed. Geralt grunted his assent and sat down on the bench, his back to her.

Yen sat down behind him with a bottle of iodine and a stack of bandages. He hissed at the sting of iodine, and she chuckled. “Baby,” she chided.

He grunted again, but had to fight a smile. There was so much between them, so much to say, and he had no idea where to start. “I’m sorry I left. But I had to,” she said softly, taping up the bandage.

“I’m sure you did,” he said, and it was the truth. But it didn’t make getting left hurt any less.

Yen leaned forward and placed a delicate kiss on the top of his shoulder. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” she whispered, and despite everything, he believed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything I know about cage fighting I learned from season 4 of The OC


	9. Prank War, Part II (College AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireflyxrebel pointed out we never got to see Geralt kiss Yennefer with her perfect red lipstick on, and this aims to rectify that. Technically in the same universe as the prank war ficlet, but this features no pranks and no Jaskier, just a jealous Geralt and some light smut.

This time of night, the hallways were usually deserted. The dorms emptied out as residents went to bars and house parties, and the few who were left were either cramming for a test or doing laundry.

Geralt was in the latter category. He padded down the hallway in just his sweatpants, laundry hamper tucked under his arm. Jaskier’s door had a sock on it, as usual, and he stifled a snort. The door to the women’s bathroom opened and Yennefer strode out in a tiny, backless black dress that made his mouth go dry. Her spiked heels clicked across the tile and she barely spared him a look.

He should have kept going, but he couldn’t help it. “Going out tonight?” he asked casually, leaning against her doorjamb.

Yennefer didn’t even look up from the mirror over her dresser. “Tutoring session.” She capped her mascara, picked up a tube of blood red lipstick, and began painstakingly applying it.

“Tutoring. At ten on a Saturday night.”

She blotted her lips and added another layer. “It was the only time Eyck had available.”

Geralt had to close his eyes to get a grip on his temper. “You mean the dumbass in our Genetics class? The one who only hasn’t failed out because his dad owns some big biotech company and donated a whole new science building?”

“The one whose dad could give me a six figure job after graduation, yes.”

“Tell me you’re not going to seduce a fucking moron just to get a job.”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business how I live my life,” she replied. She sprayed perfume on her wrists and dragged one down the side of her neck. The scent of lilacs and gooseberries floated towards him, stirring the beast in his chest. He loved that scent, loved the way it lingered on his sheets after she’d slip into his room in the dead of night ready to fuck. Sometimes they fucked until dawn and sometimes she’d just ride his face until she came and then leave, but no matter what her scent would be on his sheets for days after.

“Yen, please,” he said, but he wasn’t sure what he was asking. Maybe it was  _ please don’t go sleep with someone else _ or maybe just  _ please let me be the only one to kiss you _ but he did know whatever it was, it sat at his very core.

She stalked towards him. “What are you gonna do about it, Geralt?” she challenged, and against his better efforts, the beast inside him broke free.

He cuffed his hand around the nape of her neck and crushed her against him. His mouth found hers in a fierce, unrelenting kiss and Yen slammed the door shut behind him. She had him pinned against it in a second, kissing him back just as hard. Her lipstick tasted waxy and just the tiniest bit bitter, but the skin on her back was smooth and hot to the touch. He kissed her until she went soft and languid in his arms, until her kisses had less teeth and more tongue and it felt less like a fight and more like a dance.

He lifted her in his arms and her wet center pressed against his stomach, making him groan. “Fuck, no underwear?” he hissed.

Yennefer was busy dragging her mouth down his throat and sinking her teeth into the muscle between his neck and shoulder. “You never do,” she pointed out and slipped her hand under his waistband to draw her point home.

“I’m not usually wearing a tiny fucking dress,” he countered, wrapping her hair in his fist and tugging her head back to bare her neck to his lips. He crossed her room and tossed her unceremoniously on her bed and had two fingers buried in her before she could do anything more than gasp. Her mouth roamed his torso, hot and searching, leaving red smears across his skin. 

Marking him as hers.

* * *

Geralt always got sleepy after sex. He couldn’t help it— his body would simply relax until he was drifting off, even if he knew he should leave. Yennefer never spent the night in his room, and the message there was clear. But lying on his side with a naked Yennefer trailing her fingers up and down his body, he was having a hard time staying awake, much less mustering the willpower to walk away.

She swirled her fingertip around a crimson stain on his jaw. “Going to be hard to hide that unless you take a shower,” she observed.

Geralt grunted. “I don’t have anything I want to hide.”

“What about the others?”

“What others?” With great effort he opened his eyes and found her watching him carefully.

“Other hookups.”

“There aren’t any.”

“None?”

He shrugged with one shoulder and reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “None. Not really wired that way. If I’m with someone, I’m with them. Not really interested in anyone else.”

“Even if you never talked about being exclusive?”

“Even if. And I don’t necessarily expect the same from my partners.” She raised an eyebrow and he chuckled ruefully. “Well, I try not to, anyway. Sometimes I can go a little...caveman.” That was half a lie— he never felt this sort of possessive, bone-deep jealousy with anyone else. It was unique to Yen and quite frankly, it terrified him.

It terrified him, and it was also why he couldn’t bring himself to leave the warm cocoon of her bed. Because here, at least, she was his.

“A little?” she teased. She snuggled closer to him and let him drape his arm around her, tucking her against his chest.

“Sorry you missed your date,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

He felt her smile against his skin. “Don’t be,” she whispered, and as he drifted off, he smiled back.


	10. The Chanteuse (1930s AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romkole asked for Yennefer as a singer and Geralt entranced by her voice, plus I like doing completely random historical aus.

Geralt sat back in his chair and nodded his thanks to the waitress. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke lingered over the crowd, and that and the dim lighting combined to faintly obscure his view of his target. But from this vantage point he’d be able to tell if they got up to leave, although he doubted he’d have to follow them. He recognized the woman— for the right price, she’d admit to the affair so his client could secure her divorce. It was hardly the most difficult case he’d ever taken, but it would pay the bills.

He sipped his whiskey, relieved that whole mess with Prohibition was over. It wasn’t that Prohibition made it _hard_ to find alcohol, it just made it hard to find _good_ alcohol. The band finished warming up and the singer strode to the front of the stage. Geralt glanced up, intending to return to his surveillance, but instead he froze.

The singer was, quite possibly, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Tall and lithe with smirk that told him fools approached her at their own peril, she closed her eyes and took a breath. She began to sing, and he was lost. She was exquisite, her voice somehow sultry and soaring, gliding through the melody like a hawk soaring above a cliff.

She looked at him, purple eyes pinning him in place, and he set down his drink. His quarry was busy with his mistress, whispering in her ear and making her giggle, but Geralt had already decided he’d simply track the woman down tomorrow.

The singer finished her song, smiled faintly at the applause, and turned to whisper with her band leader for a moment before beginning a new song. Geralt nursed his whiskey and listened, wondering when he’d last let himself enjoy something like this. 

Too long, probably.

The waitress approached halfway through the fifth song and handed him a note.  _ My dressing room backstage. I have need of you. --Yennefer  _

Geralt waited until the waitress had left before slipping back down the long hallway behind the stage. The first two doors he tried were locked, but the third opened. A small vanity sat opposite the door and a white divan lined the wall. A black coat that smelled faintly of lilacs and gooseberries hung on a coat rack just beside the door, and he was certain he was in the right place.

He was sitting on the divan, ankle resting on his knee, when she walked in. “Glad to see you know when to answer a summons,” she said haughtily.

“Maybe I was just curious what a woman like you would want with a man like me.”

Yennefer sat down at the vanity and began removing her large, diamond encrusted earrings. “You’re the White Wolf. I have need of someone with your skills.”

“You need a PI?”

She looked at him in the mirror, eyebrow raised. “I thought you were called dicks,” she said with a hint of a smirk.

Geralt felt a pull low in his belly that he thought he’d never feel again. “Some of us. If the occasion calls for it,” he replied evenly.

The smirk deepened for a moment and then faded. “I need your help,” she said seriously. “I’m in deep with the Brotherhood and I want to get out.”

“Not an easy feat,” Geralt replied. The Brotherhood was notorious, and Geralt didn’t know of anyone who’d escaped their clutches without paying a steep price.

“That’s why I want to hire you. I want you to find me something on the leadership, something I can use against them.”

“You want to blackmail the Brotherhood.” This woman was dangerous, he realized, but not because of what she wanted to do.

She was dangerous because he knew he was going to help her no matter what.

Yennefer turned around in her chair and leveled her gaze at him. “Exactly.”

“You’re insane.”

“I didn’t ask for your evaluation of my sanity. I asked to hire you.”

Yennefer was a loaded gun, poised to go off at any moment, blowing a hole in his chest. He knew it, and even that didn’t stop him. “Then I’ll start tonight.”

  
  



	11. sniper fire (bodyguard au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumaan requested a bodyguard AU. Set in a deliberately vague contemporary war zone because I just didn't feel like using real people's pain as a back drop.

“Helmet stays on at all times. Sniper fire is the most dangerous risk out there, but there could also be rubble and shrapnel if one of the buildings gets shelled while we’re out,” Geralt barked. “You do what I say, when I say it, and if I tell you to run or duck, you better run or duck. Understood?”

His charge gave an infuriating smirk. “Sir yes sir,” she said with a mock salute. “I assume you’ll be calling me Private Vengerberg while we’re at it.” She checked her camera and slung the strap over her shoulder. “You realize I’ve been reporting on warzones for a decade, right? This isn’t the first time I’ve been in one?”

“It’s the first time you’ve been in mine,” he gritted out. “You’re my responsibility, and maybe you don’t care if you die, but I do.”

Something strange flashed in her eyes and she nodded. “Sorry, I just— I don’t like being told what to do.”

“Me either,” he replied with a glimmer of a smile.

“I feel like soldiering was probably a pretty poor career choice for you then.”

“Spectacularly so,” he agreed, and that got a real smile out of her, and then Geralt realized— he was trying to make her smile.

_ Fuck. _

He got himself under control as they went out on his patrol, and he had to admit, Yennefer was good at her job. The war here had gone under international radar for way too long, and someone from a paper of her caliber was going to go a long way towards turning the spotlight to them. She had a lot of insightful questions and she noticed things he’d thought only a soldier would, like the remnants of a barricade in an alley behind a bombed out building, or the glint of a sniper rifle just seconds before it fired.

She saved his life with that last one. Yennefer tugged him behind a half-demolished wall a heartbeat before the bullet spattered into the brick behind them. Geralt glanced at her to make sure she was fully covered before he returned fire, but it was pointless. The sniper had them pinned down and he didn’t have a good angle on the shooter to get them out.

Yennefer nodded toward an open doorway deeper inside the building. “Think if we stay low, we can get through that?”

Geralt risked a glance back and judged the angle again. He slapped his sat phone into her hand and nodded. “That’s our best shot. You first, I’ll follow. Something happens to me, you call back to base and ask for help.”

“I’m not leaving you out here,” she snapped as another bullet exploded into a brick.

“Yen, go!” he yelled and three more bullets rained down on them.

That time, she listened. She crawled on her belly the few feet to the door and yanked her legs out of sight. Geralt fired a few random shots and dove after her, flattening himself against the wall as soon as he was inside.

“You good?” she asked.

He nodded. “You?”

“Not a scratch. Now what?”

Geralt scanned the room. It was hard to tell what this building had been before the war, but for now, it was just an empty room. Several blown out windows faced the street, but in the far corner was a doorway to another room and judging by the darkness, that one was entirely interior. “We make our way to that room. Stay against the wall, under the windows. Then I call base for backup, and we wait for someone to come get us.”

“They’re not going to follow us in here?”

“Probably not. That hasn’t been their style, anyway. And shelling the building for two people would be a waste. We should be okay so long as we’re out of sight.”

Yennefer set her chin and got moving, following his orders exactly. The next room was, as he hoped, far more secure. Just one entrance, no windows, no stairs. If he craned his neck out the door he’d have a clear shot at anyone walking in, and that was the best they could hope for.

He called back to base while Yennefer prowled around the room. “How long?” she asked when he hung up.

“Couple hours, maybe more. They’ve got to scout the area first, make sure it’s not an ambush.”

She absorbed the information and then sat down cross-legged in front of him, pulling a pack of cards out of nowhere. “How do you feel about poker?”

Yennefer was, perhaps unsurprisingly, a terrifyingly good poker player. She could read him like a book, which was not an experience Geralt was used to. Most people called him inscrutable if they were being kind, incomprehensible if they weren’t. But she didn’t seem to have that problem, and he found himself telling her things he hadn’t told anyone before. Things about his childhood, about losing Renfri, about half hating his mother and half wanting to see her again.

Night fell and soon it was too dark to see the cards. Yennefer leaned back against the wall next to him and shivered. It was only early fall, but the cold came fast and had a way of settling deep in your bones. “Shouldn’t be long now. Hour, maybe more,” he said.

“It’s a lot colder here than Texas,” she observed, arms tightly folded across her chest.

It was definitely against protocol and probably against fifteen different regulations, but right then, Geralt didn’t feel like a soldier. He felt like a man with a shivering woman next to him, so he lifted his arm and without a moment’s hesitation, she curled against his chest.

He rested his cheek on the top of her head, content.

_ Fuck, indeed. _


	12. shoulda said no (Fake Dating AU)

He should have said no.

Geralt knew that the second she walked up to him at the gym, openly sizing him up. She looked like the type of woman who could kill him with his bare hands and that was, as Jaskier had so accurately pointed out, his exact type.

So when she strolled over to him at a weight machine and announced she wanted to hire him to pretend to date her, he really should have just listened to his instinct. But she had a compelling case and Geralt had a hard time ignoring a woman in need, so he agreed against his better judgment.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. She was chief of staff to a lecherous, misogynistic politician who treated his female employees like his property, unless there was a man in the picture he deemed to be her rightful owner. That was what Yennefer needed him for— to pretend to be her boyfriend so her boss would stop grabbing handfuls of her ass whenever she walked past.

Geralt wanted to suggest she quit her job, but he got the sense she didn’t take constructive criticism about her life choices very well so he kept his damn mouth shut and showed up whens he needed him to. Mostly it was campaign fundraisers, for which Yen ordered a tux Geralt personally felt was too small but she insisted fit him perfectly, as well as the occasional public appearance at ribbon cuttings and groundbreakings. He’d hold her hand and look menacing whenever her boss came over to talk— which wasn’t hard, Geralt wanted nothing more than to tear off the man's arm and beat him to death with it— and kiss her cheek if it seemed the occasion called for it.

Granted, as the months wore on, he seemed to find the occasion calling for a cheek kiss (or a brush of his lips to her temple, or a nuzzle behind her ear) more and more often. Yennefer didn’t seem to mind, and in fact started reaching for him more than usual, linking their fingers together when no one was looking.

And then, at a fundraiser just like the dozen he’d attended before, she turned to him with a sudden look of panic on her face. “Kiss me,” she demanded. “Kiss me right now.”

Geralt frowned and scanned the crowd. Her boss was safely on the other side of the ballroom, deep in conversation with someone else. “Why? What’s wr—”

The rest of his question was swallowed by her lips, and Geralt had had just enough champagne not to really care. He threaded his fingers into her hair and tipped her face up to deepen the kiss, losing himself in her taste. This was not an acceptable public kiss, like their previous chaste nuzzles. This was a kiss for the bedroom, filthy and hungry and just a little too wild.

Yen pulled back and without a word took his hand and pulled him out of the ballroom. He followed, struck senseless by the kiss. “Where are we going?” he managed as she hailed a taxi and shoved him inside.

“My place,” she said, and barked an address at the driver. She turned back to Geralt, eyes aflame. “If you’re not inside me in the next twenty minutes, I might just kill you.”

She didn’t even bother with a seatbelt, just crawled into his lap and kissed him again. She rolled her hips against him and when the driver pulled up in front of her apartment, Geralt threw him an extra $20 as a thank you for dealing with them.

And that was how he came to be here, buried so deeply inside Yennefer he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. She was perched on the edge of her kitchen counter, hands gripping the edge as she braced herself against his thrusts. “Deeper,” she ordered, nipping at his lip hard enough to draw blood and then soothing it with her tongue. Geralt complied, because when Yen wanted something, all he could do was give it to her.

Yeah, he really should have said no. But he also couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering "why did she make him kiss her at the party" honestly, that's a good question. I was initially planning to have a quick mention of an ex boyfriend there that didn't make the cut, but sure let's go with that.


	13. snowstorm (backpacking au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on an anon request for Yen and Geralt backpacking + only one bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I know literally anything about camping and/or hiking? No, not really. Did I research anything?
> 
> Also no.

The moment the first snowflake hit her face, Yennefer knew she was screwed. A series of mishaps on the trail earlier had sent her tumbling into a stream, and her normally waterproof backpack had come undone and now every single thing she had on her person was soaked. She had managed to mostly dry out the clothes she was wearing before she started back to the trail, but everything else— her tent, her sleeping bag, her extra warm layers— remained too damp and chilly to use. She was still over a mile from her campsite, where she’d been planning on building an enormous fire to dry out and warm up, but a thick layer of snow would severely complicate that plan.

Within minutes, the single snowflake had turned into a full on snowstorm. Trees and branches were coated with white, and her feet made muffled sounds as the snow piled up on the trail. “Shit,” she muttered to herself. “Shit shit shit.” Up ahead, a tiny ribbon of smoke curled above the trees, and she decided for once, she’d try throwing herself at the mercy of strangers. It was better than dying of hypothermia or having to call for a medical evacuation, at least. Yennefer checked the knife in her ankle holster— useful for cutting vines, stubborn knots, and stabbing unwanted male suitors— and quickened her pace.

The source of the smoke was a tiny cabin, not a campsite, with a small sign that said it belonged to the Park Service.  _ Please let it be him _ ,  she prayed, knocking on the door. There was no answer, but Yennefer wasn’t about to give up on her possible savior that easily.

A  _ thwack _ sounded from behind the cabin, followed by another. She trudged through the rapidly deepening snow, around the porch to the small downslope behind the cabin. And there, at the base, he stood.

She would have preferred he be shirtless, but it  _ was _ a snowstorm, after all. Geralt in a tight black henley chopping wood was almost as good, because even from a distance she could see the definition in his shoulders and arms. An enormous dog let out a  _ woof _ , bounding towards her as Geralt dropped the axe. “Roach, down!” he yelled, but Yennefer had already thrown her arms around the dogs neck for a good cuddle.

There was something like a smile on his face as he approached. “Thought you were aiming to be past here by now,” he said, taking in her no-doubt bedraggled appearance. “Wasn’t that the plan?”

Yennefer had met Geralt three days ago, when he passed her campsite in the course of some routine trail maintenance. They’d talked for only a few minutes— with a fair amount of innuendo between them— and secretly, she’d been hoping to run into him again ever since.

“It was, but mother nature had other plans.”

“She’s a real bitch, that one,” he agreed. “You okay?”

“I need your help, actually,” Yennefer said, surprised by how easily those words left her lips. She couldn't remember the last time she asked another human for help. “Fell in a stream a few miles back and the catch on my bag came open. Everything’s soaked, and with the snow—”

Geralt nodded. “You can stay with me tonight while it dries. Better than me having to come pick up your corpse because you died of hypothermia.”

“So glad we see eye to eye on that,” she bantered, and his real smile in return did more to warm her than the biggest bonfire she could imagine.

Geralt’s cabin even had running water and a small solar powered water heater, which meant Yennefer got to take her first hot shower in three weeks. The bathroom was hardly bigger than a closet, and as she stood in the hot water she couldn’t help but think about Geralt squeezing his bulk into the tiny shower, soaping up the hard planes of his chest, hand reaching down to stroke— 

She stopped her brain before it went any further, if only because she’d already been in the shower a little too long. Fantasizing about him while getting herself off would just waste more water. He’d given her a clean flannel shirt and a pair of sweatpants that she had to cinch tightly and roll up half a dozen times at the ankle to make them even sort of fit, but for the first time since she lost her footing crossing the stream, Yennefer was warm and dry.

It was glorious. Geralt did the slightest of double takes when she strolled out of the bathroom in his clothes, but otherwise he was the perfect gentleman. Which honestly, was sort of annoying. It was blizzarding out and they were stuck in a 500 square foot cabin; the _least_ he could do is offer to ravage her.

But no, when it was time to go to sleep, Geralt simply told her to take the bed and stretched out on the floor in front of the wood burning stove in a sleeping bag. Initially, she followed his lead and climbed into the bed, but ten minutes later he was tossing fitfully on the floor, trying to get comfortable, and she decided she was done with the propriety game he was playing.

“Just join me in the bed, Geralt,” she said into the darkness.

Geralt hesitated before answering. “The bed isn’t very big.”

He wasn’t wrong, but also, Yennefer really care. “So? There’s space.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I don’t know if you noticed this, but I’m...kind of big too. I take up a lot of space.”

_ Kind of big _ was an understatement. The man was built like a brick house. And she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t gotten herself off several times over the past few days to the thought of him bearing down on her, his weight pinning her to the mattress while he fucked her into oblivion.

But she didn’t think telling him that would convince him, so instead she just laughed airily. “Why do you think I’m asking you to join me? It’s cold, and I bet you’re warm.”

He made a noise that might have been a laugh or a grunt, but then the floorboards creaked and the other side of the mattress dipped under his weight. He did take up most of the bed, but she was right— he was warmer than a furnace, and Yennefer snuggled back against him and let him wrap his arm around her waist. “Don’t know that I would have taken you for a cuddler,” she teased.

Geralt slid his leg over hers and didn’t even complain when her icy toes touched his feet. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he said in a low growl. She grinned to herself and let him tug her even closer.

And the next morning when she woke, she only had to crane her neck to meet his lips in a slow, easy kiss.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like people might get mad at me for making Roach a dog, but a) he's a very good doggo and b) it'd be weird for Park Ranger!Geralt to have a horse, no?


	14. taking risks (Workout AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had an ask that was probably not a prompt request about Yen's preference for grimy Geralt and I decided to write a ficlet anyway.

Yennefer liked a certain type of man. The type magazines liked to call clean-cut, or All-American. Expensive haircuts, expensive cologne, tailored suits, and a body that said “my parents could afford lacrosse and water polo coaches.”

Fine, she liked pretty boys, largely because they were incredibly uncomplicated. Yennefer could see what they were going to do long before they ever did it, and their thoughts were rarely anything surprising or challenging or even moderately amusing. To be quite frank, she could manipulate them without breaking a sweat, and she liked that.

They were simple, and she liked simple. 

But Yennefer herself was far more complicated and every so often she’d let herself indulge in a few of her less clean-cut desires. 

Such as sitting on a park bench, sipping boba tea while an absolute beast of a man did a ludicrous workout.

She kept her sunglasses on and her phone in her hand, in case he ever glanced her way, but he was usually far to engrossed in his exercises to notice her. Which was exactly how she preferred it: she got to watch him get sweaty and grimy doing pull-ups from a tree and pushups in the grass while his Iditarod-ready looking dog chased him around. 

He had more strikes against him than she had checklists: long hair (what), overly hairy chest (hasn’t the man ever heard of waxing), workout shorts that yes, sat appealingly low on his hips but also looked to be a good fifteen years old (how expensive is it to buy a pair of shorts, good lord), and a determined look to his face that said he was intense and anything but simple (no no no she _liked_ simple, she didn't like complicated). No, Workout Guy was hardly worth her time. But yet she kept coming, week after week, just to look at that magnificent specimen of masculinity.

Yennefer was hardly the only person who treated his daily 4pm workout as an afternoon matinee— there were at least four other people who lingered in the park at the same time as her, all of them barely bothering with the pretense of doing something else.

Thursday afternoon she arrived a few minutes early and settled onto her usual bench, boba in hand. She cast a discreet look around the park but didn’t notice him on any of the running trails. She’d just lifted the straw to her lips when someone sat down next to her.

Someone...large. With long white hair and a very familiar jawline. He wasn't dressed for a workout, but he wasn't in a suit, either. Just form fitting jeans and a well-worn t-shirt that would probably feel soft balled up in her fists as she tore it off him.

Yennefer prided herself on her ability to remain unflappable. No fewer than three ex-boyfriends and one ex-girlfriend had called her cold and robotic, but Yennefer preferred to see it as exceptional self-control. And even still, she struggled to take a sip of her tea without choking. She kept her eyes in front of her and her face blank, grateful she had her sunglasses on. They sat in silence for several interminable minutes, but Yennefer wasn’t about to let him win.

Finally, he spoke. “Sorry to cancel the show today,” he said in a low voice that did dangerous things to the flock of butterflies suddenly living in her belly. He took a sip of a dark green smoothie. “There’s a race this weekend, so today’s a taper day.” 

She let a tiny smile play at the edges of her lips. “You’re not apologizing to everyone else? You’re letting down an awful lot of fans.”

“They’re not my type,” he said with just a hint of humor.

“Really? Not even the bird watcher?” Yennefer asked. Across the park on the opposing hillside sat a tiny, elderly woman with a pair of binoculars clutched in her hand. Binoculars that had never, in three months, been trained higher than six feet off the ground.

“Hey now, Linda's brought me brownies twice already,” he said. “Let’s just say I appreciate a challenge." He tipped his head to the side. “Name’s Geralt. You?”

“Yennefer.”

He repeated her name slowly, as if he was tasting it. Oh yeah, this man was definitely dangerous to her, and it had nothing to do with the fact he was the size of an Asgardian Thunder God. “What’dya say, Yen. Want another drink?”

She risked looking at him head on and was greeted with full force of his smile. He was dangerous all right— like a friendly lion, caged and poised and ready to tear her carefully managed life to shreds. But despite her scrupulous exterior, Yennefer wasn't opposed to taking risks. She lifted her eyebrow and finished her boba. “Only you’re paying.”


	15. Power outage (CEO AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a request for rival CEOs and smut.

Yennefer barely even looked up from her phone as she stepped into the elevator. She’d had long day of meetings and had a giant stack of contracts to review tonight, and she was exhausted. She couldn’t wait to get out of her heels and the sharply-tailored black dress she poured herself into at the ungodly early time of five am this morning.  At least when she was home, she could put on leggings, take off the strapless bra, and pour herself a glass of wine the size of her head before she plowed through the stack of paperwork that would probably keep her up until at least one. It sucked, but that’s what came from running your own company— endless work, and no one she trusted to delegate it to.

There weren’t too many people left in the building at this time of night, and the two assistants in the elevator with her got off on the twelfth floor. Yennefer didn’t look up then either, but out of the corner of her eye she saw them dance out of the way of an oncoming passenger.

Even if it weren’t for the distinctive hair, she would have recognized him by the width of his shoulders— and fine, the shape of his ass. She was a mere mortal, after all, and everyone in the building knew Geralt of Rivia Continental Holdings had a world-class backside.

“Yen,” he said smoothly, as if they were friends and not mortal enemies. She sniffed in response and leaned her shoulderblades against the wall, eyes still locked on her phone.

Okay, sometimes she was stealing peeks at that magnificent ass, but only because he couldn’t see her.

The elevator came to a jolting stop and her phone flew from her hands. Yennefer lurched forward and would have face planted if Geralt hadn’t caught her. His hands went to her waist and he set her back on her feet in a surprisingly graceful move for such a large man.

“You okay?”

“Like you care,” she sneered, pulling herself away. His fingertips brushed her bare forearm and a bolt of electricity shot through her.

Geralt grunted and rolled his eyes. He had his phone pressed to his ear almost immediately, and after a short conversation he hung up and sighed. “Jaskier says power is out in the whole building. They’re on it, but the backup generator blew out during the last power outage, so it might be a bit.”

Yennefer scoffed. “I’ll have to pass my thanks along to the building management on the excellent planning there.”

“And I’m sure you would have done much better,” he growled back. He turned to face her and she drew herself up to her full height, thankful for her heels. She wasn’t a short woman, but Geralt dwarfed her.

His size may or may not have been the subject of some of her more idle fantasies, but like hell she’d admit that to him. “I at least would have replaced the backup generator as soon as it went out.”

Geralt’s gaze dropped to her lips. “And cut power to the whole building for four days? That’s what it would take to install it, you know.”

“I would have found a way around it,” she said, licking her lips and watching him clench his jaw.

“Yeah, I bet you would,” he said, and one minute they were standing six inches apart, glaring at each other, and the next they were kissing. His hand cradled the back of her skill, keeping her close, but there was no chance of her backing away, not when he was kissing her like that. She swept her tongue along his lower lip and he opened to her, stroking her tongue with his.

Geralt hoisted her into his arms and she tugged her dress up around her hips so he could fit more easily between her legs. Her back slammed against the elevator wall and she dropped her head back to give him access to her throat.

Her eye snagged on a small black oval in the corner. “Shit. Camera,” she muttered.

Geralt didn’t even look, just reached over and yanked it out with his bare hands. “It's fine, I own the fucking building,” he growled against her skin, as if that wasn’t exactly why she’d been goading him. His hands gripped her thighs and she scraped her teeth along the sharp line of his jaw, letting his weight pin her to the wall.

Two years ago when his company first moved into the building, Yennefer had made a bet with Triss whether Geralt would be good in bed. As it turned out he was irritating and vaguely infuriating, yes, but also thorough and keenly attuned to his partner’s pleasure.

And with Geralt on his knees, his face buried between her thighs as he drove her to her third peak in ten minutes, Yennefer came to a realization.

She owed Triss $20.


	16. claimed (pets au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @whereevershegoes asked for Geralt adopting Roach and/or Yen watching him with kitties. I went with Geralt as a vet, because that feels like an appropriate modern au job for him.

Yennefer wrinkled her nose as she walked through the door, the combined scent of animal urine, dander, and antiseptic nearly slapping her in the face. A man with sandy brown hair looked up from behind the desk and raised his eyebrows at the box carefully balanced on her hip. “We’re an animal hospital, not a shelter,” he said, more than a little snottily.

“And here I thought you were the Ritz Carlton,” she snarked back. “Tell me, do you use urine as an air freshener here, or is that just a lovely side effect?”

He gave her a sarcastic smirk. “Can I help you?”

She tilted the box just slightly. “I found her having kittens under my porch. Wanted to see if she was microchipped, or just a stray, and see if the kittens needed any shots or something.”

“Like I said, we’re a hospital, not a shelter,” he said, and a door opened behind him.

“Be nice, Jaskier,” a deep voice reprimanded, and while Yennefer wasn’t sure exactly what she expected from a small town veterinarian, it certainly wasn’t...this. He was massive, thickly muscled with long white hair and a jawline that could cut glass, and there was no mistaking the appreciative way he looked her over.

Oh yeah, he was exactly her speed.

“Come on back. I’m Geralt,” he said, with a tip of his head towards a swinging half door next to the desk. With a triumphant smirk at Jaskier she pushed it open with her hip and followed the vet back. A dog that had to be at least half wolf jumped up from a bed near the door and trotted along side them to the table, watching interestedly. “Roach is gentle,” he added when she eyed the dog warily. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Yennefer set the box down on the examination table. Geralt reached in and pulled out the momma cat first, a lithe, black and white creature with a perfectly haughty face. “Well cared for,” he observed, and ran a hand-held scanner over her. “And microchipped, so there’s an owner.” He headed back towards the desk and disappeared for a minute, still cradling the adult cat, presumably to have his receptionist call the family.

Roach sniffed interestedly at her leg and leaned his head on her thigh, eyes pleading. She let him smell her fingers before petting him, and when she glanced back the vet was watching her with an odd expression on his face. “Everything okay?”

He shook his head slightly. “Yeah. Didn’t catch your name, though.”

“Yennefer,” she said, still idly patting Roach. “What sort of dog is he?”

“She, actually. And she’s a mutt, but definitely some Malamute and maybe some German Shepherd. She was a rescue; doesn’t like most men.”

Yennefer couldn’t help but lift an eyebrow. “But she likes you?”

There was a glint to his eyes that made her grin. “I’m gentler than I look.” And as if proving his point, he reached into the box and lifted a teeny ball of fluff out. “And who are you?” he said quietly to the kitten. Yennefer bit her lip and watched as he carefully— and far more delicately than she would have assumed, given his size— checked each of the four kittens over.

Jaskier stuck his head back in. “Family’s on their way. Can’t keep the kittens, but they can handle it until they’re ready to be adopted.”

Geralt nodded and looked at her. “As their rescuer, I’d think you’d get first pick if you’re interested.”

She hadn’t really considered it but now, with a handsome man holding a kitten in his massive paws, the idea of being a cat owner was abruptly appealing. “Which one do you think?” she asked, and he set the kitten down to join its siblings in crawling all over each other.

Geralt considered them, taking her question seriously. “This one,” he said decisively. It was a calico, with a perfect pink nose and tiny little paws that made her usually icy heart melt. “She looks like she’ll be regal.”

“Regal,” Yennefer repeated. “And that’s what you think I’d want?”

“Yeah,” he said simply. 

Yennefer took the kitten and cuddled it against her chest, deciding. “Then she’s mine.”

Geralt flashed her a grin, and Yennefer wondered if the kitten wasn’t the only one being claimed.


	17. Power outage, part II (CEO AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technically a part two to the CEO ficlet but only in the loosest sense of the word.

Something was wrong. 

Geralt froze as the elevator doors slid shut behind him, sealing him into the penthouse. He looked around but everything was in its place, exactly as he left it three days ago. He set down his suitcase, wary, and then it hit him.

It was her scent, lilac and gooseberries, still lingering in the air. Except Yennefer had never been to his place. He frowned, and then he heard it— a faint splash of water coming from the master bathroom.

Geralt didn’t bother with the lights, just strode through the spacious, empty apartment to the source of the sound. The bathroom was a blaze of light, with candles burning on nearly every surface. The woman herself was lazing in the extra deep tub, water up to her chin. “You really need to get an assistant who’s harder to bully,” she said by way of welcome, dragging a cloth down her arm.

“Or you could respect people’s personal property,” he replied drily. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” She flashed him a smile, and he was done for. “How was the trip?”

This was new— they didn’t tend to talk about their days when they were together, preferring to rip each other’s clothes off instead. It had been that way since the elevator, and Geralt had been following her lead. 

He shrugged and followed her lead again. “Bought the company.” He started unbuttoning his shirt, brow furrowed. “Where’d you get the bubbles?” he asked, tipping his chin towards the sudsy water.

“Brought a bath bomb,” she said simply. She took a sip of wine and leaned back against the rim, eyes closed. “Hurry up,” she added, and since she wasn’t looking he allowed himself a small smile.

Geralt quickly stripped off his clothes and nudged her forward to slip in behind her. The water was steaming hot and it felt good against his skin after an entire day of dry, recycled airplane air. He grunted, content, and Yennefer leaned back against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Silence settled around them. The only sound was their breathing and the occasional ripple of water when she reached for the wine glass perched just beyond the rim of the tub. “There’s a photo of a woman on your dresser,” she said after awhile. There was no anger or jealousy in her voice, not even a hint of suspicion. It was merely an observation. But this was still a test, he knew that much.

“Renfri,” he answered. It was the only photo left of her in his apartment, but he couldn’t bear to put it away, even after all this time. “My wife.” He took a sip of Yennefer’s wine and let the warmth bloom down his chest, waiting.

Yennefer didn’t respond right away. “I didn’t know you had a wife,” she replied lightly.

“I don’t. She died.” He took a long pause before continuing. “Car accident. I was driving.” He motioned to his thigh.

Yennefer traced the long, ugly scar there, her touch gentle. She wasn’t trying to erase the scar, but rather show him she saw it and understood what it meant. And that, more than anything, was what he needed. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“It was a long time ago,” he replied. He skated a hand down her arm, lacing his fingers over hers. She didn’t say anything back, just tightened her knuckles around his. Silence fell again, but there was no tension to it. Geralt shifted and let her settle back against him, their chests rising and falling in tandem. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt peace like this.

“Don’t be too mad at Jaskier,” Yen said, taking a sip of wine. “I can be quite scary if I want to be.”

A grin played at the corner of his lips. “Why do you think I liked you in the first place?” he teased.

She snorted, an unladylike burst of noise that he liked more than he could say. Yen craned her neck to look at him and he spanned her jaw with his hand, bringing their lips together in a slow, lazy kiss. “You know I’m going to start breaking in here all the time, right?” she asked when they finally broke apart.

Geralt sighed and leaned back against the rim, curling his arm around her chest to pull her back with him. “Or I could just get you a key.”


	18. you matter (fuck buddies AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had some Feelings about Yennefer at the beginning of the tent scene on the dragon hunt and turned it into a modern AU.

Yennefer didn’t do hospitals. She didn’t do caretaking, period, but when she checked her voicemail and realized the call she’d ignored was from the hospital, her stomach plummeted to her feet. She didn’t know how she’d ended up as Geralt’s emergency contact, but she was in her car before she made a conscious decision. He had been a good fuck buddy for the past two years, after all. She could do this for him.

But seeing him in a hospital bed, scratches on his face and his skin just a shade too pale, did something strange to her heart. Geralt’s eyes fluttered open and a soft, relieved smile played at the corner of his lips. “You came,” he rasped.

“You were in a car accident. Of course I came,” she said in a clipped voice. It was easier to ignore that tug on her heart if she stayed businesslike. “I was just wondering why you asked them to call me and not Jaskier.”

“Jaskier’s on tour again,” he said, sitting up and wincing. “They only brought me here as a precaution to check for a concussion. I just need a ride home, that's all.” 

Yennefer furrowed her brow. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, not liking the way he was shifting gingerly. He waved his hand dismissively and swung his legs off the bed. A nurse came in to tell them he was free to go, but as they walked out, she couldn’t help but notice how slowly he was moving.

“You’re not fine” she snapped, slowing her pace to match his.

“Just a little banged up. Others got it worse,” he said in his usual terse way. But there was something else underneath, something deeper. He was upset, she realized, and once again her heart did the thing.

She sighed and stepped closer to him, slinging her arm around his back. He took the hint there and draped his arm over her shoulder, leaning on her slightly. It wasn’t his full weight— she was strong but not that strong— but it seemed to help. At least, he grunted something that might have been  _ thanks. _

She helped him into his apartment the same way, heading straight to the bedroom to ease him down on the massive king-sized bed. Everything about Geralt’s apartment was big and usually, that fit him. But not today. Today he seemed diminished somehow, and she didn't like it.

He reached for his boots, grunting in pain, and so Yennefer did something she’d never, ever done before. She knelt down and untied them for him. Geralt touched her cheek, watching her closely, and she pressed a kiss to his palm before joining him back on the bed.

It was the first time she’d been in his apartment for something other than sex, she realized with a jolt. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked, far more gently than she intended.

Geralt laid back with a sigh and she stretched out next to him. “Pile up on the interstate. Car’s totalled, and I’ve got some bruised ribs but I’ll live.” He fell silent and she reached out to gently touch his face, avoiding the split lip and the cut slashing through his eyebrow. “Three people died, I heard. A man and two women.” The vulnerability in his eyes took her breath away, and she brushed a kiss across his forehead.

Geralt carded his hands through her hair. “I thought about you, you know. The car slammed into me and I realized I'd never see you again." She closed her eyes and let him press their lips together. “I know that’s not what we agreed to, but— fuck, Yen, you matter to me.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she kissed him instead.

Usually, their screwing could be called athletic. Acrobatic, even. They fucked like it was a competition, like it was a contest to see who could get the other person off more. But this time they moved slowly— gently, even— as they undressed each other with deliberate, reverent movements. Geralt propped himself against the headboard and she sank down onto him, kissing him all the while.

That was new too. They’d kissed before, obviously, but never like this— like they needed each other, like she’d die if he stopped. Like he was trying to tell her something with his body, something she felt too but didn't want to name. Geralt cupped her face and she rolled her hips in a slow, sinuous movement, trying to remember the last time she felt so close to someone; the last time she  _ wanted _ to feel this close to someone.

“Yen, I—” he breathed, eyes shining, but she wasn’t ready to hear it, not yet. 

So she silenced him with a kiss and kept going, pulling him deeper and deeper inside of her. “I know,” she murmured back. “I know.”


	19. claimed, part II (pets AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a request for more of this little universe.

Geralt gave her his cell phone number just to be helpful. Yennefer had never had a pet before, after all, and the first few weeks with a kitten could be a challenge.

Of course, he’d also just wanted her to have it because asking for hers was downright inappropriate. So when an unknown number popped up with a text that said _what do you think of my pussy_ with a picture of a familiar looking calico kitten, he’d been unreasonably pleased.

 _A little feral, just the way I like them_ he shot back, saving the number under _Yen._ That earned him a wink emoji and another photo of the kitten, sleeping peacefully on Yen’s lap.

For the next week, she sent daily updates on the kitten, whom she named Anne Boleyn because _idk I like historical bitches_. Every message had a flirtatious undertone, just like the first one, and he made sure to respond in kind.

It had been years since Geralt was _really_ attracted to someone, and seeing Yen idly patting Roach’s head that day at the clinic had done something irrevocable to his heart. He realized how ridiculous that sounded, but it was true. He might not believe in fate, but he believed in trusting his gut when it came to beautiful women. So he kept replying, relieved he didn’t have to hide the smile that crossed his face whenever his phone beeped with a message from her.

Two weeks later he was about to fall asleep when she texted again. It was a picture of her sprawled out on her bed, the kitten napping against her long, elegant neck. _What’s a bitch gotta do to get her hot vet to ask her out?_

He snorted. _And here I thought I was being a gentleman._

_Gentlemen are boring. Fuck that._

Geralt thought for a moment and decided it was worth the risk. _I’d rather fuck you, to be honest._

There was a long pause, the ellipses hovering and disappearing several times. Finally, her response came through. _That’s more like it._

He grinned and settled back into his pillows with his phone, ready to play whatever game she wanted.


	20. whispers (teacher AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had a prompt for Yen and Geralt hooking up in a small confined space, plus another one for a teacher's AU and bam, smushed 'em together.

School always felt a little odd on inservice days. The hallways were devoid of the usual commotion of students slamming lockers, shouting, making out, and hurrying to class. Yennefer’s heels clicked loudly as she walked, echoing strangely. Most everyone else was in meetings, but Geralt’s door was open.

He barely looked up from the stack of papers he was grading. “Need something?”

She closed the door behind her with a soft click. “You could say that.”

He kept his eyes on the paper in front of him as she circled the desk. Yennefer leaned down and curled her arm around his front, nipping at his earlobe. “At work?” Geralt asked, his voice rumbling through his chest.

“Do you have any objections?”

Geralt laced his fingers through hers and pulled her arm away. She thought he was saying no, but before she could apologize he’d spun her around and tugged her into the tiny storage closet behind his desk. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light, and slowly the shelves around them took shape. They were loaded with old text books, with a few ancient microscopes hidden on the floor. There was barely enough room for her in there, much less Geralt, but he didn’t seem bothered by the close quarters. Heat radiated off him and her hands slid up his broad chest. “Any objections?” he asked with just a hint of humor.

In response she sealed her lips over his. Geralt lifted her into the air and pinned her back against the door, legs tight around his waist. Her skirt ended up rucked up over her hips and his trousers down around his knees, her panties roughly shoved aside as he buried himself deep inside her. Yennefer braced her feet on the shelf behind him, face tucked in the crook of his neck. Sharp, keening moans kept escaping from her lips with each thrust of his cock, and Geralt chuckled darkly in her ear. “Quiet,” he warned, still fucking her so hard she was seeing starbursts behind her eyes. “Wouldn’t want anyone to hear you like this, would you?”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad,” she whispered between pants. “People knowing.” They had kept whatever this was between them a secret, but right now, with his dick so deep inside her she didn’t know where he ended and she began, she couldn’t remember why.

She let her head fall back against the door and he chased her mouth, kissing her fiercely. “This how you want them to find out?” he growled. “Me fucking you in a closet? Or maybe during all-staff later, with my come leaking out of you?”

She whimpered at his words. She was close, her thighs trembling and her walls starting to flutter. “Harder,” she ordered and sank her teeth into his shoulder.

When she came it was sharp, sudden, and silent. Geralt followed her over the edge, the air in the closet humid and close. For a heartbeat they stayed motionless and then he kissed the curve of her jaw. “If you were serious, we should talk,” he said, and then flashed a grin that lit up the darkness. “But not in here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've only watched the show, so my knowledge of the mythology is limited at this time. Please be kind.


End file.
